Watcher by Grace Monroe Read Free Book Online Page A

Amsterdam and honed his skills, patching up people who preferred not to go to a hospital. That’s how he met Kailash.
    It was hard to tell that he was upset, apart from the tears, because his face had been so frozen by Botox and Restylane fillers. Blowing his nose noisily into an immaculate handkerchief – Malcolm prided himself on his whites – he began to speak. I tried to listen, even though I’d heard it all before.
    ‘This guy has no right to hit you,’ I said, when he drew breath.
    ‘Brodie, he doesn’t mean it. I probably started it anyway and annoyed him with something I said or did.’ He tapped me on the shoulder, trying to soothe my anger. The more I looked into his broken face, the angrier I got. He’d tried to patch it up with heavy foundation and concealer, but that just made it worse.
    ‘He’s insulting you, Malcolm, not the other way round. Fat bastard that he is – he’s never been any good.’ I shrugged Malcolm’s hand off me; he had to be made to see that this was unacceptable.
    ‘I’m sorry for calling you out, Brodie, but I didn’t know who else to turn to. He gets loaded then he loses his temper, that’s all. This time the neighbours called the police.’ Malcolm kept patting his hand on the left side of his chest, checking his heart to see if it was still beating – perhaps he thought it was broken. Pulling his arm, I led him back into St Leonards.
    ‘Just take a deep breath and relax. I’ll check with Sergeant Munro and maybe they’ll let me see him.’
    Sergeant Munro busied himself with paperwork. It was a game he liked to play with me: how long could he ignore the daft wee lassie? He was the only one enjoying it.
    ‘Sergeant Munro,’ I said, smiling – we may have had a longstanding association but neither of us liked it. I even lifted and lowered my lashes very slowly. I’d read in Cosmopolitan that men find it irresistible; the journalist who wrote that clearly hadn’t come across the good sergeant.
    ‘Miss McLennan.’ He stared down at the paperwork. ‘Your colleague, one Mr Edward Gibb, has already visited your custodies and you’re not getting to see Billy Palmer for another six hours.’ He smiled ingratiatingly – he liked to smile at me when he was winning.
    ‘I wanted to check the status of Derek Brown. I—’
    He interrupted me, unable to hide his delight; he didn’t even have to check his paperwork. ‘Derek Brown has asked for another solicitor. In fact, he said – wait a minute, I wrote it down somewhere … I quote: “If that miserable bitch Brodie McLennan comes here, tell her I wouldn’t let her represent me if she was the last lawyer in hell.”’ Sergeant Munro grinned but Dismal Derek’s insults were like water off a duck’s back to me. However, I needed to get more information so that Malcolm could sleep tonight.
    ‘I take it he’s appearing in court tomorrow? Who’s his lawyer?’ If I found that out then Malcolm could speak to them in the morning.
    ‘Ricky Gordon,’ said Munro.
    A snort of laughter came out of my nose. It was quite embarrassing, but must have just been nerves. ‘Ricky Gordon doesn’t do criminal work because of his stutter.’
    ‘Well, he’s doing it tomorrow – I’d get there early or God knows what time you’ll be out of Court One. I’ll get Malcolm a taxi – he needs his bed,’ he said.
    No man is all bad, even Sergeant Munro, but there were a few that seemed to be devoid of anything positive – the Ripper, for one. The atmosphere in the station was tense; all the officers were working overtime trying to catch the Ripper, yet the people in the cells were the usual suspects. A young Polish police officer shouted that Malcolm’s taxi was here. Lothian and Borders police needed foreign nationals as constables to deal with the immigrants – not that I’d ever represented a Polish plumber. I wondered if it was just another PR exercise by the Scottish government.
    My nemesis, DI Bancho, appeared, holding